


and if i wasn't so messed up i think i'd love you all the time

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bossy!Sansa, Cause It's Me and I Can't Do Sad Endings, Crossing Lines and Letting Go, Cunnilingus, Devoted!Jon, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Heavy Feelings, Hopeful Ending, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark Are Not Related, Just Sad and Sweet Smut, Needy!Sansa, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Some angst, porn with just a little bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24859591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: Her eyes are so dark. There's too much in them, too much history, too many memories, only so much he can understand. He's not brave enough to face it all. There's sadness too, and bad habits, of that he knows, and he wants to reach out and take her face between his palms, let her know he couldneverregret anything when it comes to her,them.But today he's a coward.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 106





	and if i wasn't so messed up i think i'd love you all the time

**Author's Note:**

> This is me ignoring my thesis and my WIPs.
> 
> Title from Fuck it I love you, by Lana Del Rey.

Moonlight in her hair, making the auburn locks seem as dark as blood. Pale skin white as snow, her eyes a deep ocean blue.

That’s how he finds her. Sitting on his bed, legs crossed, barefoot, hands on her lap, lights off, the moonshine coming from the window glowing a halo around her figure. Her bottom is lip stuck between her teeth. Already he wants to pull it out with his thumb and suck on it, then bite it himself, then kiss her. 

There’s never self control when it comes to her.

“Sansa.”

She’s wearing a pink dress. Spaghetti straps, delicate silk, flimsy little thing his hands could easily tear apart if he wanted to. He wants to. Desperately.

"How-"

"Robb has a spare key. I told him I left my charger here the other night."

_ The other night. _ When they were all sitting in his living room, with wine and beer and pizza. Casually chatting. Card games, charades, a makeshift karaoke. His thirtieth birthday. Everyone came, twenty-so people inside his bachelor apartment, all there to celebrate him, with gifts and hugs and music and laughter.

And he couldn't take his eyes off of _ her. _

"Why?"

"You know why."

He does. Flashes come to mind, of a stolen kiss in a dark kitchen, of shaky fingers grasping his shirt, of his hands tracing her curves. Vanilla and strawberry cake on the table, unlit candles, his friends waiting to sing happy birthday, her family there amongst them, yet he kept on kissing, drunk on the taste of her lips, her mouth,  _ her. _

It's always been her.

"You could've called."

"You wouldn't have picked up."

He laughs, short, bitter, cause she's right. He wouldn't. The other night, he went too far. He crossed a line. A serious one, an unspoken yet very real line, and he crossed it, without thinking, without giving a single damn about it. Acted on impulse, let his body say what his lips couldn't, let his heart win over his brain for once.

But that was the other night. Tonight, he needs to do better, needs to  _ be better.  _ He sighs, runs a hand through his curls, tries to reason with her despite the look she's giving him.

"You shouldn't be here, Sans."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"No, Jon,  _ I really don't." _

She's angry. He can't blame her, he'd be angry too. Couple of rushed, stolen,  _ hot _ kisses, then he left her standing there, alone in the kitchen, avoided her eyes through the rest of the night, waved her goodbye from across the room. Damn, he'd be  _ pissed. _ He is angry, at himself, for allowing this to happen, for messing up things and crossing lines and being somewhat of an asshole.

So there's only so much he can say.

"Sansa, plea-"

"Do you regret it?"

Her eyes are so dark. There's too much in them, too much history, too many memories, only so much he can understand. He's not brave enough to face it all. There's sadness too, and bad habits, of that he knows, and he wants to reach out and take her face between his palms, let her know he could  _ never  _ regret anything when it comes to her,  _ them. _

But today he's a coward.

So he just stays silent.

Two minutes go by. He knows because he counts, his heart beating faster the closer he gets to the 120 mark. She closes her eyes, lets out a sigh, sounding so fucking sad it almost  _ kills him,  _ and gets up.

"Clearly this was a mistake."

She won't look at him now, eyes on the ground while walking towards the door. He's standing in the passage and she has to squeeze between him and the wall to get out. Her back brushes his shoulder, naked skin cool even through the fabric of his sleeve.

He closes his eyes, inhales.

Lilies and lemons and  _ her. _

Suddenly, it's easy to move. It's easy to grasp her wrist with his hand, fingers brushing momentarily against faded lines, it’s easy to pull her in, to press his body against her. Arm around her waist, keeping her there, hand gently cupping her face and he's  _ looking, searching, pleading.  _ She whines, hands on his chest, fingers grasping his shirt the same as the other night, her mouth inches away from his when she speaks.

_ "Jon." _

Barely a whisper, yet it wrecks through him. The way she says his name, like it's holy, like a prayer, like he's her way to salvation. Said it like this in his kitchen, before he surrendered himself, before he dared to kiss her, an insane amount of courage taking over him. Says it again now, in the dark of his room, just the two of them caught under the pale light. It only serves to increase his devotion towards her, only serves to make him mad with want and need and he can't contain it any longer.

Kissing her is so good it hurts. It did before and it does now. Deep within his being, it hurts him to be this vulnerable with someone, because he's only ever truly vulnerable when he's with her. That's where the danger is. Allowing himself to feel it, to feel her, to be here, present, it lights up a flame inside him, a flame he can't really control, and he burns with his want for her.

Her hands are on his hair now, tugging. He groans, pushes her against the wall, presses himself more firmly to her, wants to feel everything, wants to let himself be consumed by flames, by her, will gladly do so,  _ forever. _

Too many lines have yet to be crossed for that to happen but right now he doesn't care.

She mumbles against his mouth, the words lost when he sucks on her tongue. She tastes even better tonight and he could cry from it, could actually fucking  _ cry, _ from how good she feels on him, from how much he needs her lips, her touch,  _ her _ . She tugs on his hair again, harder this time, pulling his mouth away for just a second.

_ "Bed." _

One word, breathless. He should know better. It's  _ wrongwrongwrong  _ and his hands are already grasping to her thighs, pulling her up and around him, carrying her on his arms as he obeys her command. They fall down together, heavy breaths, his hands moving up to her waist, her breasts, her face. "Touch me,  _ please."  _ And he does, with his lips on her neck, his hands on her nipples, his hips pressing  _ downdowndown  _ and rubbing ever so slowly against her center and she moans, soft and small.

He adores it.

He adores her.

Whispers softly against her skin. "Tell me what you want, Sansa."

"My dress."

He sucks a mark on her neck, a little less gentle, making her moan a second time, then gets on his knees. His hands are on the silky, soft fabric, grasping it tightly, and he pulls, easily tearing it apart. She gasps, breathes out a  _ fuck. _

He allows himself a moment to look.

Moonlight from the window shining her skin white as winter. She's bare before him, except for the small, lacy pink thing that is her panties. Her hair dark against his navy blue sheets. Nipples hard, chest rises and falls, legs spread open for him. He places a hand on her side, thumb caressing close to her belly button, her skin surprisingly cool under his touch.

"Take off your clothes."

He looks up at her voice. She's watching him, eyes darker, a deep deep blue, and she's waiting. He does as he's told, slowly unbuttoning his white italian shirt, exposing his chest to her. Her eyes trail down his body, taking him in, and he's burning for her touch, yet he stays put, takes off his belt next, tossing it aside before leaning down again.

"Jon-"

But he kisses her, hard, half mad from the feel of her bare breasts against his naked chest. He leans on one arm, his free hand moving to pinch a nipple as he swallows her moans with his mouth. Her nails scratch down his back and he hisses. "I said-"

"I know what you said, Sansa." But his pants stay on for now. There's a need to see her, touch her, take care of her first and he wants the restraint from his pants to keep his mind on track, keep him from burying himself inside her so quickly. Another kiss to keep her quiet then his mouth moves down, marking her skin with shades of red that will turn purple and green. Soft moans fill the room, and he's  _ madmadmad  _ and his mouth finally reaches a nipple, sucking on it with all he has and she half screams half sobs. He does it two more times just to hear her, the sounds going straight to his cock, twitching, pressing down hard between her legs.

He moves, keeps on painting her skin with little marks of his own, claiming her to himself when he has no business doing so. Yet tonight, she's his and he's hers and he wants to make it clear. She whines and moans and her hands grab his curls too forcefully, nails scraping down on his scalp and he sucks harder in return, bites down on her hip to earn himself a cry.

_ "Please, Jon, please-" _

He shushes her, left hand moving up to cup her breast, right hand helping his teeth tear at the pink lace. Fingers spreading her folds. One lick and needs to stop for a second, taken aback from her taste.  _ Sweet, so fucking sweet. _ It overwhelms him. Ring finger gets sucked in easily. He pumps it a few times and takes it out, sucking on it to get another taste of her, and she's saying his name nonstop so he pushes in two this time, mouth pressed on her clit and he  _ sucks. _

No composure left, no demands, just his name on her lips as her back arches from the bed and her nails dig painfully on his scalp. His hand leaves her breast to circle her waist, pinning her down on the mattress, keeping her from moving too much. He sucks and sucks and sucks and his fingers keep working on her wetness and she cries and moans and begs and  _ JonJonJon  _ and he almost comes in his pants when she does, screaming.

Soft, gentle kisses as he moves up, her body half limp beneath him, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. Eyes closed, mouth half open, a small sigh escaping her as he presses his lips there, her tongue darting out to taste herself. Sweet little hum of approval. His sweet girl, kissing him sweetly under moonshine. It's always sweet with her. Vanilla and strawberry for his cake, lilies and lemons for her perfume,  _ please Jon  _ as she makes him cross each and every line he's ever imposed for himself. And a sweet kind of fury when she opens her eyes to look at him, tender flames resting behind the deep blue.

"Your pants."

Her hand is down and cuping and he rubs himself against it, his cock dying for release.

"I want them off.  _ Now." _

She will be his damnation. He knows it, deep within his soul. He's gone for her, whipped down by just a look, hers to serve in whichever way she might need.

He's off the bed, pants around his knees. She's looking at his cock, leaning up on her elbows. He  _ burnsburnsburns  _ for her, reaching down to touch himself under her gaze, spreading the precum over his length, eyes watching her as she watches him move his hand. He groans, and she looks up, tongue wetting her lips. She gestures to the bed. 

"Sit down."

So he sits, and she moves over his lap, arms around his shoulders, legs on each side of his hips, wetness hovering just above him. He places his hands on her hips, eager, needing, while she lowers herself ever so slowly, teasing, the tip of him spreading her folds, covered with the feel of her.

_ Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck _

He won't make it too far.

“Sansa, let me get the condom.”

He groans as she moves again, one hand gripping the base of his cock, teasing herself with it, in control. Her voice is soft against his lips. “What if I don’t want to?”

_ Fuck,  _ and his hands tighten on her skin, but he needs to tell her, she needs to understand. “I don’t trust myself to pull out once I’m inside of you.”

She places him right at her entrance, sinks down just a little, just to give him a taste. He nearly chokes, his hands grasping her hips so tight, too tight, he might bruise her but- “Good, because I don’t want you to.”

_ Fuck. _

“Sansa-”

“I want  _ you. _ All of you. I want to feel you come inside me, Jon.  _ Please.” _

Then she's sinking.

Warm. So warm. He clings to her as she takes all of him, warm and wet and  _ perfect,  _ wrapped around his cock. A small voice in his head screams but he's too busy being taken over by the feel of her. She moves and gasps and  _ Jesus, _ he's not gonna last long, and the voice gets louder and he forces himself to choke out the words, grip so tight she has to stay still.

_ "Sansa,  _ are you-"

"We're good, Jon. I'm on it, now  _ shut up." _

And she's moving again, coming up to sink back down, slow at first, pace picking up when he lifts a hand to her breast, palming it gently, then pinching her nipple  _ hard.  _ She's moaning, mouth pressed on his, moving fast and a little clumsy, walls so warm and tight around his cock. He's not gonna last long at all, and he swallows her cries before whispering. "Slow down, Sans."

She does as she's told, then stops. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Her voice is small. His hand comes to cup her face, eyes searching her guarded expression. "You're not usually on top?"

"Harry likes it from behind. He says I have no rhythm."

She tries to play it cool but he sees right through it. "Harry can go fuck himself."

"Jon-"

Both his hands are on her face now, tender, gentle, holding her close. "You're  _ perfect." _

She is. She is perfection and he only knows devotion. His thumb traces her lips, swollen from their kisses. Devotion and servitude. Whatever she wants, whatever she needs, he will surely give her anything and everything. They stare at each other, eyes locked, souls searching. His chest hurts.

"Sansa, I lo-"

"Tell me how to move."

He swallows the words. They tear at his heart and leave it bleeding, burning. His whole body aches.

His palms are back on her hips. "Like this." And he guides her, hands moving up and down with her body, their pace slow, her back arching, thighs trembling. He focuses on her, on the feel of her cunt, taking him deeper with each thrust. She closes her eyes, biting her lower lip, enjoying herself. He marvels at the sight of her. "Just like that, baby, ride my cock, nice and slow." She whines at him.

"Say that again."

_ Fuck.  _ "You're so good, baby, you feel so good around my cock."

"Fuck, Jon,  _ please." _

She pleads even when she's the one taking him. She  _ takestakestakes, _ his hands on her hips to guide her, his mouth swallowing her moans. He feels it, down his navel, closer and closer. His fingers now rub her clit, the other hand still grasping her hip, keeping her steady as the pleasure builts. She's moving faster and he lets her, thumb working her hard, cock warm and wet and choked inside her. With a shiver, she's coming, hips working him furiously, walls clenching down his length, cries swallowed by his lips, body trembling through the waves. He follows put, coming inside her, blissful, the burning in his chest replaced momentarily with tenderness. The flames die down as he moves, arms around her waist to keep her there, mouth kissing her chin, her cheeks, her nose, her lips. It comes out in a whisper. “Stay.”

She chuckles. “I can’t go anywhere, you ruined my dress.”

“I’ll buy you another one.  _ Stay.” _

“Jon-”

He growls, a hand moving up to her nape now, fingers wrapping on her hair.  _ “No, _ Sansa, you’re the one who came here. You lied to your brother, you waited in the dark, you rode my cock,  _ you came here. _ Why?”

She bites back just as harshly. “You know why.”

“So  _ stay.” _

“You said that-”

_ Shitshitshit.  _ “I know what I said. I’m an idiot. Stay.  _ Please.” _

There’s silence again, heavy, weighing down on his chest. He waits, knowing that he has no right to ask this of her, hoping that she won’t mind that he did. He starts counting again, one minute, two. His cock begins to soften inside her, cum dripping down where they're still connected. He catches the moment something shifts in her eyes, and he allows himself to breathe. She lifts a hand to his face, fingers treading lightly through his beard, cupping his cheek. He hums, eyes closing, leans into her touch, turns to place kisses on her palm, her marked wrist, says her name, only a whisper against her skin. She pulls him back to her, lips brushing his, speaks against his mouth before kissing him, his chest blooming from how sweetly she says it.

“Okay, Jon. I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea where this came from but it's here so hopefully it was enjoyable? Hahaha
> 
> Thank you for reading! Your thoughts are always deeply appreciated <3


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